The King laughed. "I believe you would rather be Duchess than Queen."
"Aye, Richard, much rather, much rather," she replied instantly.
He put his hand on her fair hair and stroked it softly. "Nay, dear, the wearisome work is over now, I trust. Henceforth it will be pleasanter … Pardieu! was there ever another woman, I wonder, who needed encouragement to wear a crown?"
"A Neville once refused one," she replied.
"True, indeed; and gave it back to the miserable Henry… You resemble your great father in many ways—and may our own dear son be like you both."
"You are very good to me, Richard," she said, taking his hand.
"But much short of what you deserve, dear one."
Suddenly a bugle rang loudly from before the barbican, followed in a moment by the rattle of the drawbridge and the clatter of hoofs on the planks.
"It is Beatrix and Sir John returning from their ride," the Queen said.
"It was not De Bury's call," he answered.